


Thank you for flying Church of England

by someinstant



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:59:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someinstant/pseuds/someinstant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has never, in the history of Time entire, been a True-False exam that didn't have at least one trick question on it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank you for flying Church of England

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** This has no connection to any current plotline at all. I'm not terribly invested in maintaining realism, here.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** They do not belong to me. But I like to think they'd have fun if they did.
> 
> **A/N:** It wasn't me. I was dead at the time.

Consider, if you will, the universe.

(Take a moment or two; we'll wait.)

Right. So, universe considered, one comes to the conclusion that it is very large. _Vast_ is probably a good word to use here, as the universe is most definitely bigger than a bread box. Bigger than most bread factories, too, one imagines.1 And in this impressively vast, bigger-than-a-bread-box universe, there are Things. Like galaxies, which can contain solar systems, which contain stars and gravitational orbits and planets. And planets sometimes, when the mood and chemical composition is right, contain life, which (very) occasionally takes the form of human beings. And-- as someone important once said (or very nearly said; we're not entirely sure how the wording went)-- human beings contain multitudes. A lot of it's of goopy stuff-- ropy intestines and pudding-like brains and water and red blood cells and some salt and bacteria. But there's other, less gross stuff, too, like Ideas and Ego and Fears and Hope, which makes up the more multitude-esque part of humans.

It's very crowded, being human.

Now, just-- keep all that in mind. That was the prologue, so it's probably important, in a grand, foreshadowing sort of way.

* * *

Once upon a time, John Sheppard was forced to watch _Waterworld_ with a girl he was not-dating.2 It sucked for a hundred and thirty-six minutes in 1995, and Sheppard wasn't terribly surprised to discover that it could suck for two uninterrupted weeks on a planet many, many light years away from Kevin Costner.

"You know," said Rodney, "you have very unattractive facial hair." He said this while laying the middle of a ovoid canvass boat, surrounded by empty water skins, and staring up at a sky that had two red suns in it. This was a bad idea, retinally-speaking, but not as bad as it might have been. It was a fairly hazy day and the suns looked like two lighter patches of greyish red in a wash of the same color.

"Shut up and give me your shoelaces, Rodney," Sheppard said. He was going to catch a fish. He really, really was. He'd read _The Old Man and the Sea_ in ninth grade, he had a Big Mouth Billy Bass in storage somewhere in California, and he was fucking Air Force, which had nothing to do with fishing, but still. He was fucking Air Force. A fish was not the boss of him.

"I gave you my shoelaces three days ago," Rodney said. "You dangled them in the water for about half an hour, got bored, and then used them to play Cat's Cradle. I'm not sure, but it may have been an attempt to lure the fish into a false sense of security. In which case I would point out, Colonel, that the fish is _very_ secure at the moment, so feel free to surprise us all." Rodney continued to stare at the suns.

"Want my sunglasses?" Sheppard asked.

"Not really," McKay answered.

Sheppard picked up the loop of shoelaces from the bottom of the boat and made cat's whiskers to distract the fish some more. Clearly it was still on to him, which was why he hadn't caught it yet. "Why don't you want my sunglasses, Rodney?" he asked.

"Because I'm trying to blind myself so that I won't have to look at that hideous neck beard of yours," McKay said steadily.

"Gotcha," John said, and passed out, contented and delirious with sunstroke.

* * *

A few days worth of aloe and saline drips later, Dr. Weir said, "Sacred fish," and bit her lip.

"Well," Sheppard said. "They said, 'Catch the sacred fish, or we gut Ronon and Teyla.' So--"

"You told them you'd catch the sacred fish," Dr. Weir finished.

Sheppard nodded carefully. The neck beard had been painful to shave off, what with the sunburn and gross peeling skin. "I mean: fishing trip or dead teammates. It seemed like an okay decision."3

"You did realize," Dr. Weir said, her tone saying, _Of course you didn't, you attractively bedheaded idiot_, "that Ekiat was ninety-three percent ocean?"

"Ye-es," said Sheppard, with wide, shifty eyes. "That was in the briefing, wasn't it?"

* * *

There are lots of theories surrounding the giant, all-encompassing _Why_ of the Universe.4 Many of these place the blame-- and credit, if there's any to be had-- at the incorporeal feet of some sort of powerful deity or deities, who just up and decided to take a whole lot of Nothing one day and make Something of it. All the planets and humans and fieldmice and whatnot, according to most of these models, are around for a Greater Purpose: to teach something, to redeem something, to perfect something. These are very interesting theories, and a lot of very smart people believe in them.

Some people, however, have slightly alternate views, arguing that it seems a little odd that omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, omni-whatever powers would feel the need to fiddle around with the Universe, just to see what would happen. Especially given that-- being omniscient-- said powers would already know everything that could happen, ever. The logic here is difficult to ignore, for any number of people.

So. We have what appears to be a conflict: if A, not B. If B, not A. True or False. A deathmatch, if you will, between Faith and Reason, one which _demands_ that we all get up off our collective butts and choose a side. Except--

Except that there has never, in the history of Time entire, been a True-False exam that didn't have at least one trick question on it.

* * *

The Glietl were a formal, deliberate people. Greetings were complicated scripts that took an hour to complete, trade negotiations meant one needed a detailed understanding of local custom and labor laws, and meals were intricately choreographed pieces of performance art. In short, in a world such as this, McKay and Sheppard would probably rip the social fabric to shreds within ten minutes of stepping through the gate.5

"Attention to detail is highly valued among the Glietl," Teyla told Dr. Weir, during one of their pre-mission-briefing strategy sessions. "They are not a violent people, but they distrust--," she paused, looking for a delicate way to put it, "-- _spontaneity_. Disruptions in their established routines are frowned upon."

Dr. Weir's mouth quirked. "And by 'frowned upon,' you mean--?"

Teyla ducked her head. "For minor transgressions, such as using the wrong utensil at the table, there is a significant fine. For other, more serious disruptions-- speaking out of turn, overly-familiar forms of address-- there is usually a mandatory period of incarceration."

"Ah," said Dr. Weir, no doubt picturing the potential for Prison Break Five Hundred and Thirty-One.6

Teyla looked at the ceiling, smiling slightly. "I believe that Halling has some plans for an irrigation system which he is eager to discuss with Dr. McKay," she told Dr. Weir. "It is not, perhaps, a matter of great urgency--"

"I'll have Colonel Sheppard fly Dr. McKay out to the settlement this afternoon," said Dr. Weir. "After all, sustainable agriculture is very important."

"Quite," said Teyla. "And Ronon and I can go forward with negotiations as planned, so that we do not lose time."

"An excellent allocation of resources," Dr. Weir agreed.

* * *

"_Ha_!" said McKay, pointing at the video feed of Teyla and Ronon in Glietliol prison garb. "Vindication at last!"

Sheppard shot McKay a look that was supposed to be disapproving, but came out more gleeful and self-righteous than was strictly necessary. "Now, Rodney," he said seriously, "there's no call to be rude. After all, I'm sure anyone can make a few teeny-tiny culturally insensitive mistakes, resulting in arrest."

"_Colonel_," said Dr. Weir.

"Yes?" Sheppard said, all innocence. He had not been pleased with his demotion to taxi driver any more that Rodney had wanted to play Athosian Gothic and brush up on his farming.

"Dr. Weir," Teyla's voice came through the gate sounding tinny and very, very annoyed. "I'm afraid that our communication time is being strictly monitored, so if we could--"

"Yes, right," said Dr. Weir. "What are the charges?"

Teyla looked extremely embarrassed. "I believe the formal charges are aggravated rudeness and resisting arrest," she said. "The warden has informed us that we will have to serve seven days in their detainment facilities."

"So what did the Incredible Hulk do this time?" asked Rodney. "Gargle at the table? Clean his teeth with the finger bones of infants?"

Ronon snorted. He looked bored and rather terrifying, even in aggressively fuschia prison robes. "Wasn't me," he said. "Teyla wouldn't eat the cake."

"_What_?" Rodney was appalled. Mocking religious beliefs was fine, holy sites were _meant_ to be desecrated, and incidental genocide sometimes just happened, regardless of the precautions one took, but-- refusing to eat cake was simply _unnatural_.

"I respectfully declined," Teyla corrected Ronon. "I was overly full, and did not care for dessert."

Sheppard's mouth thinned in disapproval. Rodney's eyes were shiny with disbelief and betrayal. Ronon looked like he thought the whole thing was _hilarious_, but was smart enough not to let Teyla know it.

"I do not _like_ chocolate!" Teyla said, desperate. "Elizabeth, surely there is some way to--"

Dr. Weir shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do for you, Teyla. Best just to do the time," she said. "We'll see you in a week."

* * *

Some Russian guy-- not the one who wrote _War and Peace_, the other one-- once wrote that we can't expect to interrogate the infinite and receive a finite answer to our questions.7 This has to do with the gap between Faith and Reason and the limitations of human understanding. Basically, the guy says that there are things that are knowable and the things that just _aren't_, and we shouldn't get all bent out of shape when we can't get the puzzle pieces to fit.

Really, though, this just explains why the "How many Surrealist does it take to screw in a light bulb" joke is so damn funny.8

* * *

It was a beautiful night. The stars were bright, the moon was full, and there were any number of lovely mystic priestess around for seduction purposes. So, naturally, Sheppard was busy dragging McKay's drunk ass away from the festivities.

"We've been over this before, McKay," John said. "Ronon's, like, twenty times your size. You are never going to be able to out drink him."

"Y'know what's sad?" Rodney hiccuped, swaying like a kid who'd been on the Tilt-a-Whirl a little too long.

"The fact that you're a thirty-eight year old physicist who thought he could win at _beer pong_?"

"No," McKay protested. "_I can too win at beer pong_. I'm. It's-- They just _cheated_."

"Sure they did. By making you lose," Sheppard said, rolling his eyes. "So. What's sad?"

Rodney's face crumpled. "_Everything_," he said.

"Oh, jesus," said Sheppard, feeling a moment of manly panic. "McKay, if you cry, I'm going to maroon you on the lemon tree planet."

"That's just _it_." McKay gestured to the firelit festival roaring along down the hill. "D'y'know how many people on Earth would _kill_ to know about this?"

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "An alien kegger?"

McKay scowled. "_No_. Aliens. The-- the gate, and wormholes, and the Ancients, and Atlantis-- _everything_. S'not fair to pretend we don't know about stuff we _do_ know."

"That's remarkably democratic of you, Rodney."

"Ca-na-di-an," McKay said, poking at John's chest. "We're better at that stuff. Any. Anyway," he said, regrouping. "Did I'ver tell you about. See. I met this guy at a bar, once--"

"Um," said Sheppard.

"No, not _like that_." McKay scowled, and then conceded, "He was pretty hot, though. Hey. Hey, is that some sort of requirement for the military? 'Cause you're _all_ hot."

"Um," said Sheppard again. He felt it was worth repeating.

McKay ignored him. "But this guy, he told me he was with the SGC, and I said, 'What's that?' and he-- he, there's. I'm twen'y-six, and there's a piece of paper he tells me to sign, and then he tells me that there'sh this _gate_. And aliens and wormholes and the whole-- whole _everything_." He gestured, sketching something much, much bigger than a bread box. "It was just-- _just_." McKay's voice cracked. "I mean, I _knew_ it had to be out there. I _knew_ it. But then it was-- it was all _there_, and I could _see_ it." He was quiet for a moment, and then said, "But I had to promise not to tell," sounding incalculably miserable, leaning heavily against Sheppard's left side. "I couldn't _tell_ anyone."9

"Well, yeah, buddy," John said, wrapping an arm consolingly around Rodney's shoulders. "That's the idea of a confidentiality agreement. You get to know stuff, but you can't talk about it. Now," he said, scanning the ghuk-skin tents, "any idea which one Teyla said was ours?"

McKay shook his head once, twice, and turned green. "Nn," he said. "But-- when _you_ found out, didn' you want to tell _everyone_? So-- so they could _know_?," and then threw up spectacularly over John's boots.

* * *

Really, this is all about Purpose. And the existence of Free Will, if you like, because the two seem to be intimately related. Lots of intelligent-- and, incidentally, _very_ long-winded-- men and women have written endless pamphlets and books and bumper stickers on the subject over the years.10 The two main questions that seem to come up in these very intelligent discussions are:

**1.** Do things happen because other things have happened in the past? That is: is there some sort of determined causality in the Universe?

and:

**2.** Can we do anything to change what will happen in the future? Does it _matter_ what we choose? Or does the Universe just sort of happen all around us, without taking any notice of what we do?

So. There's all _that_ to consider.

* * *

"So hey," said Sheppard, plopping down at the table across from Ronon. "As of next Double Sunday, you'll have been on Atlantis a year. We should do something."

Ronon speared a muffin with his fork. "Yeah?" he said, wary.

"Yeah," agreed Sheppard. "A team thing. We could get a couple movies with lots of explosions, or maybe a couple seasons of _Buffy_, some beer, and bribe the commissary staff to make cookies. Or cupcakes."

Ronon brightened. "Pie," he said.

"Right," Sheppard grinned. "Or pie."

"No," Ronon said, biting off a piece of muffin. "Not '_or_ pie.' _And_ pie. Cookies and cupcakes _and_ pie."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "_And_ pie," he repeated.

"I like them all," Ronon shrugged. "Why choose?"

"I have no idea," said Sheppard.

* * *

 

1\. Unless we've all drawn the wrong conclusion, and the universe is actually very very small. Infinitely tiny. In which case, a bread factory, being bread-factory-sized, would be larger than said universe, except that the universe would then _contain_ the bread factory, making the bread factory even _more_ infinitely tiny than the universe-- unless! Unless the bread factory somehow exists _outside_ of the known universe, but that is a supposition which is really just headache-causing and unnecessary. So let us, for the moment, assume that our first conclusion is correct, and that Universe = Very Large.

2\. Okay, maybe dating. At least, _she_ thought they were dating, and he thought they were just, you know, watching bad movies as a prelude to fucking, which is probably why the marriage didn't work out.

3\. Point of fact: this is exactly the same defense Sheppard used after That Thing in Afghanistan. Substitute 'disobey orders' for 'fishing trip,' add a petulant-sounding 'sir' after 'decision,' and that's it, word for word. 

4\. Encompassed in the all-encompassing _Why_ are basic existential questions like: Why are we here? What is our purpose? Is there a God? If so, why does God hate us enough to allow the production of reality television? 

5\. On MG9-819, McKay managed to offend seven of the nine local gods in under three minutes by suggesting the inhabitants bathe with water instead of fermented milk. On PX0-839, Sheppard inadvertently prompted a group of fourteen-year-old girls to overthrow the government. On PL2-176, McKay committed an unspeakable act with a goat, thus offending three gods, a goat, and the goat's owner. On M5R-012, Sheppard was caught in a compromising position with a a tavern wench and the tavern wench's husband, thus prompting the community killjoys to get their pitchforks and torches. Really, it was never a question of _whether_ McKay and/or Sheppard would screw up; it was just a matter of _how_.

6\. Surprisingly, SGA-1 only accounted for seventy-four of Atlantis's mission-related prison breaks. Field teams containing anthropologists had a much, _much_ higher rate of incarceration-- mainly because Drs. Tulle, Eley, and Villarreal were devoted Marxist-structuralists who felt it was their mission to organize co-operative labor collectives on planets with unfair labor practices. 

"It's not that I don't support fair compensation for goods and labor," Dr. Weir said, leaning against the bars separating her from Dr. Tulle and the rest of SGA-14, "it's just that this is the fourth time in five weeks that we've had to bail you out for inciting a mob and encouraging a general strike. Why not try and work _within_ the system, next time?"

"For the bureaucrat, the world is a mere object to be manipulated by him," said one of the Marines. 

"All social rules and all relations between individuals are eroded by a cash economy," added another.

"Philosophers have only interpreted the world in various ways; the point, however, is to change it," Sgt. Burns concluded. 

Dr. Tulle smiled proudly.

Dr. Weir thunked her head against the iron bars. "I _hate_ signing off on these mission reports," she said. "O'Neill only has alien sex in his. Landry thinks I make this kind of crap up."

7\. It might have been the Russian guy, or it could have been the Bible. Or maybe Douglas Adams. It's all the same, really.

8\. Answer: Fish.

9\. Actually, McKay broke his confidentiality agreement before he left for Atlantis, telling both his cat and his neighbor. His cat listened seriously to Rodney's explanation of wormholes and lost cities and Ancients, and then went back to cleaning himself with his tongue, unsurprised by the government cover-up. (He was a cat, after all, and distrust of The Man is inherent in cats.) McKay's neighbor just rolled her eyes, said, "Whatever, Dr. McKay. I'll take him-- you don't have to lie about why you're abandoning your pet, you asshole," grabbed the cat, and shut the door in his face.

10\. Look, read Hume and Hobbes and Hegel and Locke if you have to, but-- for the love of god, stay away from Schopenhauer and Kant unless someone's got a gun to your head, or you're feeling particularly enterprising and masochistic. Just a suggestion.


End file.
